Filius Flitwick, Head of Gryffindor
by The Next Man
Summary: ABANDONED We know that Minerva McGonagall was nearly Sorted into Ravenclaw rather than Gryffindor, and Filius Flitwick nearly into Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw. What if it had gone the other way? ABANDONED
1. Chapter 7: The Sorting Hat

**A/N: After the success of my other For Want of a Nail story, Harry the Curious, I got to thinking about similar things. I considered various different possibilities, but wasn't inspired by many of them. Then, however, I decided to try Pottermore (Sorted into Ravenclaw, for the curious). I was interested to learn that Professor McGonagall was nearly put into Ravenclaw, and Professor Flitwick nearly into Gryffindor. I find this highly amusing, and couldn't help wondering what might happen if they had been placed in the other houses.**

**I arrived at the conclusion that a good deal might be changed by the simple expedient of swapping two people's houses, and just _had_ to write about it. The main difference at first is that Professor McGonagall is Head of Ravenclaw, and Professor Flitwick is Head of Gryffindor. They still teach the same subjects, McGonagall is still deputy Headmistress, etc. But the students in the Houses, influenced by their Heads, well… let's just see, hmm? This picks up from near the end of chapter seven. Like early on in HtC, I'll give a few sentences from the book, the bold the first line of changes.**

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Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed **Professor Flitwick, their Head of House, through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase.** Harry's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Flitwick led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as the professor took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him. "Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist."

Professor Flitwick spoke, his voice high and flutelike. "Peeves, begone!" A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered. "Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?" There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross- legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!" He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked, but there was no need to; Flitwick whipped out his wand and said _"Garluma!"_ Peeves' movement was suddenly reversed, and the poltergeist was sent flying through the halls head-over-tails, slamming into a wall and groggily floating away. Everyone in second year and above applauded, as the first-years stared in amazement.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't listen to prefects or even teachers. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Good evening, Professor. Password?" she said.

"Caput Draconis," said Professor Flitwick in a high, carrying voice that carried through the mass of Gryffindors, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it - Neville needed a leg up - and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy pointed out two stairways at the back, telling Harry that the one on the right led to the male's dorms, but Professor Flitwick was saying something. "The muggleborn first-years, come over here please!" he called. "That includes you, Mr. Potter, as you were raised by Muggles."

Harry drifted over to where Flitwick stood, in the middle of a circle of armchairs and couches. He sat next to the bushy-haired girl from the train; Hermione Granger, he remembered. There were only two other muggleborns in first-year Gryffindor, it seemed. One of them was Dean Thomas, a burly black boy, and the other was a tiny little blonde girl whose name he couldn't remember.

"Now then," squeaked the Professor. "My name is Filius Flitwick, and I am your head of house as well as the Charms Professor. Now, I know that you've had a certain amount of information given to you by the professors who came to meet you to take you to Diagon Alley. What do all of you know about our world?"

Hermione Granger raised her hand eagerly, but no-one else did. When Flitwick looked at her expectantly, she immediately began to sprout off things that Harry had read in his wizarding history book. Within moments, however, he was lost; she had clearly gotten more than just the required textbooks, and had, apparently, memorized every history book in Flourish and Botts.

Flitwick raised a hand before long, silencing her. "Thank you, Miss Granger, very informative," he said dryly. "Anyone else?" No one else said anything. "Come one," the professor said encouragingly, "surely there's something…"

Harry hesitantly raised his hand after a moment. "Um. Can you explain the Houses a little better? And exactly what is your job as head of house?"

"Certainly!" he squeaked. "You know from the Sorting Hat that Gryffindor is the house of the brave, Hufflepuff the loyal, Slytherin the cunning, and Ravenclaw the intelligent. Of course, there are other traits associated with these houses; chivalry and, I am ashamed to say, acting without thought, are also Gryffindor traits; Hufflepuffs are very fair and generous; Ravenclaws are usually curious and a bit eccentric, and Slytherins are ambitious and often rather underhanded.

"However, none of the Houses are fundamentally different. You will find good people and bad people in each; there are dull people in Ravenclaw and unsubtle people in Slytherin, Gryffindor has both the brave and the not-so-brave, and Hufflepuff has had its share of traitors. You may have heard rumors, furthermore, about the houses; that all Dark Wizards come from Slytherin, that Hufflepuffs are all mediocre, for example.

"None of these are true. I draw your attention to the infamous serial killer Sirius Black, servant of You-Know-Who and a Gryffindor, to my shame. The dark lord before him, Grindlewald, once visited Hogwarts and tried on the hat; he was placed into Ravenclaw!. I doubt I need to list all of the Dark Wizards from houses other than Slytherin, as I'm sure you're all quite bright. But I urge you all to disregard these stereotypes!"

Professor Flitwick paused to breathe; he had been quite vehement by the end of his impromptu speech, and Harry got the impression that he had given it several times before. "I apologize, Mr. Potter, what was the second part of your question?"

"Oh, er… what do you do as head of house?"

Flitwick smiled benevolently. "I arrange your schedules, I control discipline in the house, I provide career counseling, and I favor you most unfairly during classes." He chuckled at the last one to show it was a joke. "I encourage your studies and try to get you to behave well, though not necessarily with success. And, as our government is heavily influenced by wealthy and bigoted purebloods," he said, frowning, "I am technically the legal guardian of all Gryffindor students who do not have a wizarding parent. This means that I am to act as a father or grandfather would to all of you; I do try to take an interest in each and every one of you, and you will receive small Christmas presents from me. Once you reach your third year, if your parent does not sign your permission slip to visit Hogsmeade, I can sign it for you, assuming that there is no other reason for you not to visit."

Flitwick yawned. "But it's getting late. If any of you have any questions or concerns, any at _all_," and it seemed that his eyes rested longer on Harry than the other two as he looked between his first-year muggleborns, "come to me. I will _not_ laugh you off, I will _not_ ignore them, I _will_ take them seriously and look into them or answer them as best as I can. Now, to bed!"

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**A/N: …Also, the character pairing is not romantic. That would be disgusting. It's just the main character (Harry) and the character that most changes flow from (Flitwick).**

**I am searching for a beta for this story.  
**

**_Garluma_ is just a few syllables I thought sounded cool, and means nothing at all.**


	2. Chapter 8: The Potions Master

**A/N: This picks up midway through Chapter 8 of the actual book. I'll begin with a short excerpt before jumping forward to the main focus of the chapter, and bold the first changed line.**

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They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

**One of the classes was surprisingly interesting: **History. While Harry had liked reading about history in his textbook, he had expected the actual class to be just lecturing. However, the teacher, Professor Jempi, had an enchant blackboard which could show pictures of whatever she desired. She told the class about the founding of Hogwarts, animating it on the blackboard, but didn't give any detail on what they Founders looked like. Their homework was to find out and use the simple illusion spell she showed them to present how they imagined the Founders to the class. Harry left feeling quite hopeful; he had mastered the spell quickly, trying to create the image of his parents.

Their first class with Professor Flitwick was also fun. He gave a lecture about why a charm was different than a transfiguration, a jinx, a hex, or a curse, but Harry had trouble following it. Nevertheless, at the end of class he showed them how to perform _lumos_¸ turning their wands into bright lights. "It's technically a second-year spell," he informed them after they had all mastered it. "The Ministry thinks that first-years need to master the basic wand movements before learning any spells. I think that really, the best way to learn is to do, and this is the best way to demonstrate the wind-up movement that's the basis of the spell. Besides, it's a wonderful confidence booster."

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class. "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

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"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Ron. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them - we'll be able to see if it's true."

Harry was about to respond when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and met Professor Flitwick's eyes. "Yes, Professor?" he asked.

Flitwick grimaced. "I should warn you about Professor Snape," he murmured. "He… didn't get on with your father. They hated each other, really. I worry that he may take his frustrations out on you. You should take care to do well in his class."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "I'll do my best, Professor," he assured his head of house. "Can you give a hint or too about his teaching style?"

"Expect him to begin with questions on advanced material," Professor Flitwick recommended. "From _1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi,_ I'd guess. Have you read through it?"

Harry nodded. "But I can't remember much of it."

Flitwick glanced up at the Head Table, where Professor Snape was talking with Professor Quirrel. "Don't tell _anyone,_" he hissed, and tapped Harry's skull with his wand before scurrying back to the Head Table.

Harry blinked, feeling something rustling gently through his mind. It seemed to settle in the part of his brain that had memories, and he had a momentary image of an amorphous cloud of light cleaning a smoked glass window until it was perfectly clear, then bending out quirks to make it straight, not distorting any light at all.

("Harry?" Ron whispered, waving a hand in front of the boy's unseeing eyes. "Are you okay?")

Harry considered the window in his mind as the cloud of light faded away. He couldn't even tell that there was 'glass' there anymore; he could see through it t perfectly, with no distortion of any sort. He peered through it in an attempt to discern what lay beyond. He saw…

Well, it was odd. He seemed to be looking out through what must be his own eyes, the first time that he read through _1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi._ He could clearly see the words on the page, which talked about how monkshood and wolfsbane were the same plant, and gave its third name, aconite. The picture danced slightly, and he could hear, faintly, the sound of Dudley's video games from the next room. The memory was perfect, far better than he should be able to recall it.

Professor Flitwick must have put him under a memory charm, Harry realized, to help him in potions. Presumably he would remove it later.

"_Harry!"_ Ron said sharply, breaking Harry from his trance.

Harry looked at him and blinked, trying to dispel the memories of Ron that danced behind his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Are you all right?"

Harry nodded. "Professor Flitwick enhanced my memory," he told Ron. "I wonder why he thought–"

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps. The memory of that shock played for a moment, and he jerked. He hoped he would get used to the memories that played through him soon; Professor Snape would surely notice otherwise, and he could clearly recall the school rules saying that Memory charms were off limits during quizzes.

Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid_

Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled _Yes, please, see you later _on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again. It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to him so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry - he hated him. Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and unlike Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name. "Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity." Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels. The faces of other people who had eyes like that flashed through Harry's mind for a moment, but he had gotten the hang of banishing the images during History that morning; he caught the image and dunked it in an imaginary vat of fire.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," Snape began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word - like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, remembering their potions book, before responding. "Draught of Living Death, sir."

Snape's eyes curled into a sneer. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Nothing, professor," Harry said immediately. "They're the same plant; also called aconite."

"Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" Snape's eyes were locked on Harry's now.

This was _easy_, Harry thought, resolving to thank Professor Flitwick devoutly. "Stomach of a goat, sir."

"What are the steps to brewing a potion to cure boils?" Snape snapped.

"Grind snake fangs to a fine powder and add six measures to the cauldron," Harry began rattling off, reading from the textbook in his head. Hermione was gaping at him by the time he finished, while Ron appeared smug. Snape's eyes were still boring into his.

"Potter!" Snape said in a dangerous tone. "Who put a memory-enhancing charm on you?"

"No-one, professor," Harry said in his best 'innocent' voice. He frowned a moment later, though; there was something pressing against the edge of his mind; it felt like a snake, or some sort of insect, seeking admittance. He caught it in the same way he caught the images that flowed from the window in his head, tossing the intrusive presence into a greased chute out of his mind. A moment later, Snape stumbled backwards.

"Detention, Potter," Snape growled. "Tonight, with me. Eight o'clock. You are all _dismissed._" The professor swept out of the dungeons ahead of them.

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon, Harry's mind was racing and his spirits were low. Did Snape really hate him so much that he'd give a detention for no reason at all? Maybe Professor Flitwick could intervene. "Cheer up," said Ron, "Snape's always giving detention to Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door. When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang - _back_." Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open. "Hang on," he said. "_Back_, Fang." He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it. "Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest." The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Harry and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes.

Harry and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Fitch 'that old git.' "An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her - Fitch puts her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seemed to really hate me," Harry insisted. "Professor Flitwick told me he hated my dad, too."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes when he said that. "How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot - great with animals."

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

_GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day. "But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date. "Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!" There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for? As Harry and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harry thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?

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**A/N: Yes, there is a reason for the new History teacher, and yes, it flows from Flitwick and McGonagall being in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw respectively.**


	3. Author's Note: Shutting Down This Story

**A/N: Sorry about leaving you all like this, but I'm shutting down this story to combine it with a rewrite of my other story, Harry the Curious. I no longer feel a pull for this storyline, but like some of the elements in it and am therefore combining it with the rewrite I'm doing right now. With that, I leave you with a link to the revised version of Harry the Curious, which includes elements from this story:**

** s/8276119/1/Harry_Potter_and_the_Draught_of_Life  
**


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